


iceberg

by TricksterNag1to



Series: Chainsmokers AU [15]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Chainsmokers AU, F/F, Implied/Referenced Suicide, LAST UPDATE FOR A WHILE. WE'RE GAY AND STRESSED., Not Happy, Takes place before this AU starts, Trans Female Character, good ol fashoned wlw, trans sakura
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-06 23:10:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10346688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TricksterNag1to/pseuds/TricksterNag1to
Summary: Her body is like an iceberg - nine-tenths below the waterline, one-tenth above.





	

It’s the little things about Sakura Oogami that capture her heart.

 

The roughness of her hands, every callous and knuckle and vein that brush against Aoi’s as they lace their fingers together in the school hall.

 

The deep baritone of her laugh, and how it resonates in the air for a second longer than normal (not  _ too long _ , though - there is no such thing as too much of Sakura’s happiness) after Aoi tells a joke that isn’t funny at all. 

 

The way she blushes when complimented and the way she listens to bubblegum pop while lifting. (Aoi would have never known the latter had she not yanked Sakura’s headphones out of the jack one day when she wanted her attention.)

 

These little things pile up and up inside her heart like too much protein powder for two weeks, two months, two years, but she can’t tell, not anyone, because Sakura is her best friend and if things between them were ruined because of Aoi’s stupid crush she’d never forgive herself. She contents herself instead with staring in class and doodling hearts all over her math papers until October of their senior year. It’s an accident, really, when she tells her, sobbed into her arms one Saturday night - or is it Sunday morning? - because nothing is real past two a.m. and she just can’t stand Sakura not knowing how loved she is. She’s not prepared for when Sakura gently coaxes Aoi’s face out of the crook of her neck and kisses her, slow and sweet like someone might break but neither is sure who. They lay in each other’s arms for the rest of the night, somewhere between awake and asleep, until the sun peeks over the horizon and Aoi finally dreams.

 

She dreams of icebergs, which have fascinated her since her youth. Nine-tenths below the waterline, one-tenth above, and yet they still float and refuse to melt. She dreams of fish, tropical fish that do not belong anywhere near icebergs, the kind of colorful things you’d pick up in a petstore, flitting about the ice. The fish laugh with her voice and she understands deep in her subconscious that she is them, tropical and decorative and stupid, and Sakura is the iceberg, regal and strong, and the two of them may be bonded by water but are intrinsically doomed by nature. 

 

When she wakes, Sakura has somehow extracted herself - she’s really quite graceful when nobody is watching - and Aoi’s heart lurches until she hears the clink of metal pots and pans together in the kitchen. She blinks sleep from her eyes and pads across the house to where Sakura is cracking eggs over the stove. They eat a simple breakfast, Sakura kisses her forehead ( _ maybe dreams are wrong _ ) and drives them both to the gym two miles away. Ordinarily they’d jog, but Sakura wants to work on hamstrings, and is hesitant about overworking the two of them. Aoi smiles. She’s always so considerate. Aoi’s nothing like that - she’s impulsive, driven by the “now”, and often she doesn’t plan ahead. Sakura must be sent from somewhere in her dreams to complement her. 

 

Their weekends look much like this for the next few months. 

 

Aoi thinks maybe her dream was wrong, maybe tropical fish and icebergs can find a way to make things work. 

 

People do not stare when they walk down the street holding hands, and maybe it’s because they’re too afraid of Sakura’s stone gaze, but either way, Aoi loves dragging her to teahouses and buying everything off the menu. Sakura will chuckle to to herself and assert that Aoi couldn’t possibly eat all of that, and laughs even harder when she’s proven wrong ten minutes later. She’ll sip from a cup too tiny for her impossibly large hands and pretend she doesn’t know why Aoi is giggling. Every single time, Aoi will drag her off as soon as they’ve finished and make her walk through town in the December air, snow crunching under their boots. Sakura always wants to walk by the river. Aoi can never say no, not when her girlfriend looks so happy leaning over the bridge and watching the water rush past, frigid and deep, occasionally carrying a large branch through what hasn’t frozen over. It never completely freezes for some reason. Aoi thinks she’d like to ask why someday, but she never really gets around to it.

 

Some nights, Sakura confides in her her struggles with herself. She’s too big, too hulking, too masculine, and even after years, the dysphoria still kills her. Aoi charts up a little budget to fly her to a clinic (“Whichever one will take you! We’ll go across the world if we have to!”) and afford all the appointments and medications she’d need. It’s not a  _ little _ budget by any means, but she shows Sakura her emergency fund, that with time, might be able to afford some of it. She’s got a job at the restaurant around the corner, right across the street from Pig Boy, and she’ll save all her money until Sakura can feel comfortable with her body. 

 

Sometimes Sakura doesn’t show up for school. Aoi knows it’s because she gets sick often - she has a weak stomach and frequently gets viruses. She’s always back the next day, smiling softly and claiming she needs to train her stomach, which makes Aoi snort, because you can’t train a stomach like you can train your muscles. 

 

It’s a day like this towards the end of December, where Sakura isn’t in school, and Aoi ditches halfway through lunch to go home and bake her some cookies for when she comes back the next day. She spends half an hour getting the dough just right, because even if it’s store-bought she doesn’t want to mess it up. When they come out of the oven, she decorates them with little frosting hearts and a raspberry on top, because she likes chewy cookies with fruit, and she’s pretty sure Sakura likes them too. If not, she can always just take the raspberry off.

 

Sakura doesn’t come to school the next day. 

 

Aoi doesn’t think much of it. It’s probably a nasty bug. For all of Sakura’s resilience, viruses are pretty powerful, and she wouldn’t rule out the possibility of Sakura being sick for another day. 

 

Another day turns into another week. 

 

She isn’t answering her phone.

 

Her parents don’t know where she is. 

 

Flyers are posted around town and her picture is run across the local news. The authorities suspect a kidnapping, but Aoi knows that’s bull - Sakura is too strong. She wouldn’t be that easy to just  _ take _ . 

 

The last two weeks of the year are  _ agony.  _ Waiting, watching, calling. Calling, watching, waiting. 

 

She dreams of icebergs every night.

 

Her agony ends on New Year’s Eve, when Sakura’s mother calls her cell phone and speaks only a few sentences before Aoi hangs up without a word.

 

Pulls on her sneakers.

 

Races through town, ignoring the snowfall in the picturesque streetlight.

 

Follows the sounds of sirens and shouts to the bridge where Sakura used to lean and watch the water rush by, and now sees her

 

down 

b

      e

             l

                 o

                      w.

 

Her body is like an iceberg - nine-tenths below the waterline, one-tenth above. She’s wedged against some rotten, wet tree, trapped halfway in the ice, and the water washes against her, over frozen skin and limp hair that waves in the current like milk splashing. Her body is beginning to bloat and her lips to distend.

 

Aoi leans over and is sick.

 

It’s the little things about Sakura Oogami that break her heart.

 

Like the way her heart does not beat and her lips are chapped and blue as the paramedics pull her corpse onto the riverbank as the clock rings New Year. 


End file.
